


like my mirror years ago

by liraels



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (or are they??), Dark Rey, F/M, Post-TLJ, TROS Rewrite, ben turns light - Freeform, not a fix-it because i just made it more tragic but in a satisfying way, rey turns dark - Freeform, they're like perpendicular lines that cross once but never meet again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liraels/pseuds/liraels
Summary: “I hate you.” And she did. Kylo sighed and wished that he could feel hatred that easily, that cleanly.They were both silent for a while. The air was thick as honey. Warped by the Force, it fizzled and vacillated between them. They stared at each other for a long few minutes, waiting for the bond to break, waiting to be alone again.Rey spoke, achingly miserable, “I wish you'd chosen differently.”
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	like my mirror years ago

**Author's Note:**

> don't worry he's only called Kylo at the beginning. for Reasons.

In the days after the battle of Crait, Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, was nowhere to be found.

Anyone who took part in the siege would testify to seeing him enter the old mine on Crait. They would also protest that they could not be blamed for his disappearance – even the freshest recruit knew that to shadow Kylo Ren when he was in one of his moods could lose you at least a few whole ranks. The relevant officers were reprimanded, the ground troops disciplined. But no one could say where the Supreme Leader had gone. A missing TIE fighter, that was all there was, and no one could even say for sure that it was Kylo Ren who took it.

General Hux, as could be expected, stepped up to the plate in Kylo's absence. He closed in upon the last holdouts of the New Republic and pursued the remnants of the resistance. The resistance was not found, and neither was the Supreme Leader. The galaxy spun on.

*

Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren and Supreme Leader of the First Order, stomped his foot childishly before kicking a stone up the path between two rows of gnarled trees. His eyes followed it from bounce to bounce until it skittered and stopped in a nest of roots. Another, more powerful kick sent the rock flying much further. It took a minute of slow walking for him to reach the place where it rested, just a few metres before the path stopped in the most complete way a path could stop: dropping into a sheer cliff face that fell smoothly to a flat desert many leagues below.

There was a timidity in Kylo’s gait that ill-fitted his broad frame, clenched muscles, and the tortured fog in his eyes. He strode up to where the rock lay and drew back his foot for another kick, one that would send it over the precipice and to smash into dust far below. That kick didn’t land; the rock was spared.

Kylo stood frozen, on one leg, for a few seconds before he turned around.

“ _Stop this_.”

He shook the hair from his eyes and tilted his head so as to better see the woman before him, the very person he hoped yet feared to see.

“Rey,” he said. It was an effort to keep the emotion from his voice, but he’d had half a lifetime of practice. The single syllable left his lips without the slightest intonation.

“Stop this,” Rey repeated, her voice tight with anger. She’d drawn her lightsaber, it was shimmering and shaking in her hand. A strange image swam to the top of Kylo’s thoughts – that voice forged into a blade, a saber as crisp and clean as his own was volatile. He imagined what it would feel like to die with that saber through his heart.

“Please,” he said, shaking away the thought. “I think we’ve established that I don’t control this…connection...we have.”

“I hate you.”

Maybe _this_ was how that blade would feel. Kylo forced himself to say what he didn’t mean: “You could have taken my hand, joined me. You wouldn't have lost Luke or the resistance, at least not yet. We’d have ended them ourselves.”

“I _hate_ you,” she spat, drawing up her saber into an attack stance.

“You won't kill me,” Kylo said. Of course it was true, but he needed to say it in order to convince himself. To stop himself from imagining what that might be like – to die, to go, to rest. No, _no_ , he was alive and would continue to live with it, with _himself_. There was no escape for him, especially not now. Oh, he hated it. He hated.

Rey, clearly, hated too. “Won't I?”

“You won’t,” Kylo said. “Neither will I kill you. You may have rejected me, and rejected the dark side, but it is still out there for you. I will still wait for you.”

“I'll never take your hand.”

“You thought about it. You wanted to.”

Rey raised her saber so the blade angled up from the hilt at her eye level to where the point hovered in the air just before Kylo’s nose. “I’ll _never_ take your hand.”

 _We’ll see_ , Kylo could have said. But, help him, he wasn’t sure of that anymore.

“It wasn't Snoke,” he said.

“What?” She sounded less angry than surprised.

“You were wondering why the Force was still connecting us, what with Snoke dead.”

“I told you once. Get out of my head.”

“I wasn't in your head. You were in mine. Regardless, it wasn't Snoke who joined our minds.”

“Who, then?” she sneered. “You?”

“Not you nor I, not individually. This is...something else.”

“I'm tired of your cryptic nonsense. Go away.”

“As I said, I can't. Maybe something specific has to happen for it to stop. Maybe the Force wants us to do something.” Kylo had the barest inkling about what that something might be, but he was damned if he was going to make it that easy for Rey. The longer this confrontation dragged on, the longer he could dither and excuse himself away from the First Order.

He sat, legs sprawled out from a low log. Rey did not respond to his gesture for her to make herself similarly comfortable. She lowered her saber so it remained pointed at his face. Kylo looked along the blade; the blue glow cast her face into eerie shadows.

“How have you been?” he asked, for want of anything else to say, and because hearing her voice was easier than hearing his own.

“How do you think? I thought you had light in you. I was wrong. You deserve everything you get.”

She was angry. That was all. “Do you really think so?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she hissed.

“I see.”

“You have some nerve to be so sorry. Not just sorry, _sorrowful_. You don’t deserve to feel that. You _killed him_.”

It was Kylo’s turn to feel surprised. “You can feel that?”

Rey looked away and didn't answer. Kylo pushed down his niggling shame — if he could feel her emotions so keenly, of course she could feel his in turn — and tried again, “How have you been, really?”

“You want to know?”

“I do,” he said. He wanted to know what that was, that feeling seeping from her that wasn’t merely grief or exhaustion, the one with a sharp edge.

“I hate you.” And she did. Kylo sighed and wished that he could feel hatred that easily, that cleanly.

They were both silent for a while. The air was thick as honey. Warped by the Force, it fizzled and vacillated between them. They stared at each other for a long few minutes, waiting for the bond to break, waiting to be alone again.

Rey spoke, achingly miserable, “I wish you'd chosen differently.”

“I do, too,” Kylo said, without thought. Only some time later would he realise the double meaning behind those words – did he wish that she’d chosen differently, or himself? He'd wonder which one he had meant.

Rey’s brow wrinkled in a frown, and she opened her mouth to say more – but winked out. The bond was broken. Kylo Ren was alone again, but for the dust and trees and the brink of that sheer precipice.

Later that afternoon, a traveller would come across that same spot. Instead of the tree-dotted viewing point that the traveller expected, they would find a naked circle at the edge of the cliff. The limbs of trees littered the ground. No rocks or dirt buffered against the hard ground in this spot – they lay metres away, at the circumference of this perfect circle, as if pushed there in a most perfect act of rage.

*

Kylo Ren returned to the First Order on the pretence that he had never left.

He kept up appearances – attended war council meetings, though he said little and glared more; stalked the halls every so often with his head down and his guard up; and made sure to get on Hux's nerves at every possible opportunity. 

He had his mask welded whole again. Snoke was dead. Kylo was the Supreme Leader. The only counsel he would proceed to take, from now on, was his own. If that counsel told him the mask was a necessity, he needed it to hide away the child’s face that he could never quite forge into steel – well, then he would follow it, and share it with no one. If he wondered what Rey would say, to see him in the mask again, re-donning the guise of a monster...that, too, was a private matter.

As the days since Crait crawled on, Kylo Ren worked on perfecting the art of distraction. It was one thing to convince the Order he led to drop everything to pursue Luke Skywalker, or a scavenger girl, thus side-tracking the ultimate goal of forming a new Empire. It was quite another to convince the Order to do nothing at all.

It required careful planning and quiet consideration, something Kylo had always preoccupied himself with. So when he locked himself in his quarters for the better part of each day, it went largely unnoticed.

Hux needed competition, something to rail against, so Kylo promoted Pryde to Allegiant General and positioned the two to knock heads. That would keep them occupied for the most part. The Order itself needed direction, as well as practical action, so he focussed its attention on the remaining Imperial sympathisers and Vader devotees who had survived the rule of the New Republic. There was to be no threat to the new Empire, that was the message, especially not any threat from a past that should rightly be long dead. He kept Vader's mask, though. It was a stark reminder he found he needed often.

Distraction was his strategy, but of course it could only ever be a temporary one. He tried not to think about what he would do when it failed.

*

Kylo was training when it happened next. In fact, he almost sliced Rey in half with his saber, just barely missing the loose linen of her vest as she blinked into being. He fought the urge to laugh; she wasn't amused.

Kylo wondered if his lightsaber could physically interact with her through their Force bond, and that led him to wondering if any object could be passed through it. Rey caught on—the bond was stronger every day, it was more and more difficult to shield his thoughts from her. She brandished her own saber defensively. “Don't you even think about it,” she said.

“Only as an experiment. I wouldn't actually...” Kylo trailed off. _Kill you._

Rey scoffed. “I would. I will.”

“Oh, you will?” She was lying, they both knew it. “Try it.”

He barely had time to brace himself before she darted forward and brought her saber down on his. The blades crackled and hummed and the shock of them meeting was simultaneously energising and exhausting. He was forced back a step but used the momentum to spin around and slash in a wide arc toward her left side. She blocked, as expected, but didn't anticipate him pressing his height advantage to shift her centre of balance and kick her legs out from under her.

“I see you've improved,” he said, swinging his saber in lazy circles as she jumped back to her feet.

She bared her teeth. “Leia's been teaching me.” _Oh_. Rey ducked under Kylo's next stab and he felt a dull punch to his stomach, forcing him back again. He huffed, trying to regain his breath.

Rey didn't wait for him to recover. She knocked aside his next two blows, feinted to the right — Kylo saw it coming and blocked easily, but _distraction_ was the name of the game because while he was concentrating on her saber-arm she kneed him sharply in the thigh. It was funny; she fought passionately but was still untrained. She left her guard down and her right side wide open as she drew back for a killing strike.

Kylo smiled, turned his saber away, and let the opening pass. Rey's blade screamed towards him, a broad slash that would slice right through his ribcage — she looked fierce, determined, maybe she _would_ kill him, had he misjudged everything? — but then she and the saber winked out of sight.

Kylo twirled his lightsaber, staring at the spot where Rey had been just a moment before. There was a lot they could learn from each other. For instance, Kylo could make much better use of his knees.

*

Kylo’s current plan in his overall strategy of distraction was to orchestrate a hunt for old Sith relics. It consumed resources and occupied the officers. If he put the right spin on it, it could even sound like he was hunting down weapons that would aid the First Order in finally wiping out the resistance. Scrolls and holocrons containing ancient knowledge, weapons and artifacts belonging to historic Sith masters.

If this plan also allowed him to research long-forgotten Force mythology – stories about an undefeatable duo, unmatched in their command of the Force, a dyad – then that was merely a convenient bonus.

This planet housed an old Sith temple, perched on the side of a great snow-capped mountain, which Kylo ventured into alone. The Knights patrolled the woods outside. These days, they were barely more than goons to him.

The temple felt older than it was, imbued with hundreds of years of Sith magic and tainted by the dark thoughts of the priests who once frequented it. Cold stone rose a hundred metres above Kylo's head in a pyramidic spire. Once, this place would have been lit by candles and glow-bugs. Now it was just the bloody, flickering light of his saber revealing each step just before he took it. There was a persistent gloom in here that no light could effectively penetrate.

He'd found nothing, as yet. There was tell that the cursed mask of an old Sith might be preserved somewhere here, and at the very least there should be scrolls, records, written knowledge. Not that his heart was in the task. It was, as most everything was these days, purely a distraction.

Blood rose to a rush in Kylo's ears. Air forced itself up his throat as he suddenly inhaled. Now, there was something that wasn't a distraction, not anymore, at least not for him.

“You’ve come for a round two?” he called at Rey, who'd materialised at the end of the passage, a slight shadow against the dim mist.

She sighed, more a physical slackening of her body than an audible sound. But she didn't reach for her saber. “You should be so lucky.”

“I don't know. You almost got me, that time.”

“You're infuriating.”

“I try.”

Rey sighed again. Kylo took a few tentative steps closer; she didn't react, so he took some more. He opened his mouth to ask a question, not quite sure if that question would be _you sure you don't want a round two_ or _how are you_ or _why do I feel what I feel from you and how can I make it stop_ , but she interrupted with a snap.

“ _Don’t_ ask me how I am. You don't deserve to do that.”

It was Kylo's turn to sigh. “Tell me anyway?”

“You're a monster. I shouldn't even be talking to you. I should kill you.”

“Ah, but that wouldn't be very Jedi of you.”

Rey seemed to grit her teeth, the muscles in her face went taut. “I've almost killed you before. Maybe I'm more than what you think I am.”

“Maybe so. Don’t forget, I feel you as you do me. If you don't want to tell me how you are...you can always show me.” Kylo held his breath. His conversations with Rey always felt electric with nerves, like his first real battles had felt. Now he felt close to nothing when he fought, unless it was with Rey – anything with Rey.

He felt her hesitation, the flimsy wall she put up to hold back the veritable tsunami that was their bond in the Force. Then – Rey opened up, and it stole the breath he was holding. She was… _trying_ , the demands of the light, the pull of the dark, the way rage and revenge sat in her veins like it was _natural_ like it was _in her blood_ , the way she reached for the dark in her dreams like a baby to its mother, desperate for answers, for belonging, for the _something more_ she knew hid below it all, and no one could know, _no one could ever know_.

Kylo gasped, he needed air, he needed…

 _Rey_. She clutched her stomach, hair falling in her face. What would happen if he brushed that hair aside and could see her eyes?

She spoke, haltingly, “But if my parents were just – just junk traders, then is it just me? If there’s dark in me, then is it just _me_?”

He didn’t know what to say, but he knew what to feel and he projected it – _I know, I’m listening, I’m here._ And he was. He was here, and so was she, and it was impossible but inevitable and they were one and if Kylo only existed _for this_ , for her, then he was fine with that. That was better.

*

Rumours spread quickly.

“Did I hear, Supreme Leader,” Hux snivelled as they passed each other in the corridor that led to the command deck, “that you were contemplating... _abdication_?”

Kylo huffed, concentrating on the way his helmet converted the sound into angry static. “A General should maintain himself above the common rumour mill.”

“Nevertheless, your sights do seem to have strayed elsewhere, as of late.”

“My primary goal is to orchestrate a return of the Sith. If that goal interferes with my ability to command the First Order, then perhaps I will step down. For now, I will hear no more from you about this.”

Hux preened as he stalked away. Kylo felt a strong urge to slash that smirk off his face — not a rare feeling, what was surprising was the thought that accompanied it. _It would be so easy to tear this place apart from the inside_.

*

Kylo was alone in his quarters, as he often was these days, when he visited his mother.

It was accidental. Well, he wanted to reach out to Rey, that wasn't an accident. He hadn’t intentionally connected to her since before Crait, but it was still as quick and easy as letting out a held breath.

There she was, sitting straight-backed and cross-legged. She looked tired, but then, as she glimpsed him – felt him – instantly alarmed.

“No, Ben, you can't...”

And he realised that she wasn't alone. He felt his mother's voice rather than hearing it: _Ben_.

He hung up immediately. He shook himself, fitted his mask back over his head. It hissed angrily and weighed heavily on his skull. No matter. No matter. He had other things to do. Distractions were hard work to maintain.

*

Rey wasn’t angry the next time Ben saw her. Just...sad, or lost, or perhaps both. He felt a hollowness through their bond – and, for once, it wasn't radiating from him alone.

Ben was in his quarters, pacing, when he felt her unmistakeable presence. He was alone, as was alone more often than not these days. With Snoke gone, the only voice in his head was Rey's.

She was crouched, eyes to the ground, eating some kind of bread and meat with her hands. She didn’t look up immediately.

“Where are you?” he asked, dropping down to kneel at her level.

Her head jerked up and she glared at him with a mouthful of half-chewed food. “That's classified.”

Oh. Sometimes he forgot there was a war. He tried again, “How are you?”

She swallowed her mouthful and twisted her face into a frown. “Fantastic, thank you very much.” Rey picked a bone from between her teeth and threw it – at him, Ben thought, before it disappeared in a flicker of flame. Her eyes reflected the soft glow of a campfire.

She stared at the fire Ben couldn't see for a while, before her mouth went tight and she snapped again, “You're killing us. Every day, we run from you, we hide, we look for allies but we’re _starving_ and you’re killing us, I hate you. I hate you, but I don’t, really, and I hate...”

Ben hoped Rey couldn't feel the cold ache deep in his chest – but, then, was it only his ache? Sometimes he couldn't separate what was hers and what was his.

“What can I do?” he asked.

Rey hesitated, but she didn't sneer or scoff. She said, matter-of-factly, "We need information. Your numbers, locations, weapon strength. Weaknesses."

“I can get it for you.”

“Who are you doing it for? For me? Because if so, maybe I'd rather you didn't at all.”

“Yes, for you. But not just you. For...for her. For...him. I – You push past the dark every day, Rey. Maybe...maybe I-” His throat choked up, dry as dust.

She laughed, and the peals were high and razor sharp. “I'm your inspiration, now, am I? I came to you and asked you for this. You took that chance and spat on it. How could I ever trust you? You're nothing to me. You're—" Rey stopped herself suddenly and frowned again into the flames.

As if Ben needed to be reminded of those moments in Snoke's throne room, as if he didn't dwell on them in his every spare minute, replaying them again and again. There was the decision, the tectonic shift, there was Snoke's death. Then there was her, and him, in perfect harmony. Then there was the breaking – and regret. _You come from nothing. You’re nothing._

He wanted to say things to her. He wanted to explain—did he deserve that? Was he entitled to explain himself to her, to anyone? Could he even put it into words?

It was – _legacy_. It was knowing every day of his life that his lineage, his family’s legacy was the most important thing about him, that blood defined and ruled him. It was Snoke whispering in his ear that there was another legacy out there, one that would embrace him, the mantle of his grandfather. It was the tipping point, it was Luke Skywalker, it was Han Solo. It was his next mistake – pretending his anguish demanded more death, more destruction; deluding himself into believing his enemy was the past and not the future. It was the certainty that Snoke had to die, that they all had to die, how else could be himself, how else could he be someone who wasn't merely someone's else's blood and someone else's history? It was Rey, whose parents were nobody, who had no legacy – bound by nothing, free to be _just Rey_. It was Rey who was nobody and wasn't that the greatest and most beautiful thing?

He started, “Rey, I –“ But couldn't go on.

“I know,” she said, still not looking at him. “You don't have to say it. I know.” She sighed.

If Ben listened very carefully, he thought he could hear the fire crackling where Rey was, somewhere many millions of light years away. They talked intermittently for the rest of the night until the crackling stopped and the flickering died and the only light on Rey's face was that of a cold moon that Ben couldn't see.

Ben didn't say _I'm sorry_ ; he said _I want things to change_ , he said _I think I'll do whatever it takes_. Rey didn't say much to that, she just looked at him. Ben knew it would take more than just words. It felt like stepping out over a precipice, letting a foot hover above the void, where one gust of wind could tip him into the vast unknown. But the wind was warm, and it felt like home.

*

That night, Ben Solo had a dream.

It began slowly, and mundanely, as most dreams did. He was strolling down a dim corridor in his ship. All was quiet, not even the hum of an engine disturbed the silence, and he passed no one on his way.

When he stopped in place his last footsteps echoed hollowly. At the end of the corridor was a figure. Dark, cloaked. The sight sent a violent chill up Ben’s spine. His drew his lightsaber and ignited it. The crackle of its blade should have comforted him in the otherwise eerie silence, but it only made him nauseous. He stepped closer. The figure’s face was illuminated in shadows of blood-red.

It was Darth Sidious, the old Emperor. He said nothing, but smiled, his teeth crimson in the light of Ben’s saber. Ben’s hands and knees shook. A tsunami of rage rose in him, rage that didn't feel like his own, boiling and bubbling until it erupted – all he knew was _kill him, kill it._

He threw himself forwards and buried his saber to the hilt in the Emperor’s chest. There was a lull, a moment when the Emperor merely continued to smile and _he wasn’t dying_ – and then the Emperor’s face changed and there was Rey.

_Rey._

The nausea in Ben’s stomach turned to disgust, to pure revulsion. He wrenched the saber from Rey’s chest and stumbled backwards. He’d just – _Rey_ – and she was –

She spoke, in a low hiss, _You are nothing_.

Ben felt like he might throw up, his throat burned and his tongue tasted poison. She was smiling the same smile the Emperor had worn – thin and curled, awful. She was pale, cheeks sunken, eyes ringed by purpled skin and sweat. And when she raised her hands those eyes suddenly gleamed red – not from Ben’s saber, he’d dropped it when he tripped, but from a double-bladed staff of crackling fire. Red as red, dark as Sith.

He couldn’t move, didn’t know how, didn’t know where to put his legs. He stood and stared, and Rey drew back that fearfully red blade and, he couldn't move, she – plunged it in the space below his ribs.

Ben exploded awake, tangled in sweaty sheets, and rolled heavily onto the floor. He lay there, heaving, feeling his ribcage smart against the hard, cold surface, for several minutes. Sitting up made his nerves and muscles screech. His quarters were a disaster zone: objects Force-pushed every which-way, some smashed to pieces where they'd fallen. And at the centre of it all, Vader's mask, no longer twisted and burned but smashed into hundreds of shards each no larger than a fingernail.

He swept up the pieces and threw them in the garbage chute. When morning finally came, the lot was burned and flushed out the airlock.

*

The news of the Supreme Leader's disappearance – permanent, this time – spread quickly, from ship to planet to station, through the core and to the furthest reaches of the outer rim. Those few that remained of the First Order command let that news spread, for fear that a cover-up would draw attention to the other problem the Order had: the Supreme Leader had disappeared, but with him he’d taken the fleet's lead Star Destroyer and killed all of its occupants, including the majority of the Order's officers who held a rank higher than Admiral.

The gap in command, and resulting stall in the First Order's activities, persisted for months. General Hux was dead, of course, he was one of the first bodies recovered, floating in space – ejected from the airlock of the stolen Destroyer. He'd been beheaded for good measure.

Kylo Ren was branded a deserter, a murderer, and a traitor. The bounty on his head was worth several planets.

Despite best efforts, the news spread. Ben Solo, the son of Han and Leia, the nephew and last student of Luke Skywalker, was alive.


End file.
